


magic in the baking

by Crollalanza



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Beginnings, Food, Gen, M/M, Magical Realism, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 17:20:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28852698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/Crollalanza
Summary: After a stinker of a match, all Rintarou wants to do (apart from punch Atsumu's smug face) is pound out his frustration making soba. Instead he decides on cake ... his Granny's special cake.
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou, Suna Rintarou & Inarizaki Volleyball Club
Comments: 10
Kudos: 57





	magic in the baking

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you San (tookumade) for the title!
> 
> This has been written for Suna Rintarou Week using the prompt 'magic'

Back home, when frustrated, Rintarou had learnt to make soba. There was something about pummelling his rage into the dough which aided his return to the equilibrium he held in his core. He’d pummel and pound until whatever loss he’d keenly felt had dissipated. Then calmer he’d shape and roll, finally returning with a knife to cut the dough into fine noodles.

At Inarizaki, late afternoon after a particularly stinging match, Rintarou marched to the shared kitchen in his dorm, intent on making noodles, but was thwarted by the lack of buckwheat flour.

He took a shuddering breath, hoping his hands would stop their incessant clench as he tried not to relive every time he’d wanted to yell and punch and slam his fist into—

_Cake … I’ll make a cake instead._

He found sponge flour, sugar, eggs and somewhere … right at the back of the cupboard was a small bottle of vanilla extract. Reaching for it, he unstoppered the lid and inhaled. But today not even the vanilla’s warmth could soothe him, not when the voices yelling from the corridor insisted on drowning out any coherent thought of peace. Kicking the door shut, hearing an exaggerated ‘Yikes’ then a laugh, Rintarou scowled then flung open the cupboard door to pull out a large china mixing bowl. His own. Brought from home. He breathed.

_Granny’s special cake._

There was an electric whisk, but he picked up a wooden spoon to cream the slightly-too-hard butter into the rather-too-grainy sugar, mixing and beating as he smeared it into the sides of the bowl.

The toss had not been ‘perfect’, whatever their setter said.

_Thought you could manipulate the blockers!_

_I’m not a freaking octopus! That one was way too far!_

Tucking the bowl in his left arm, he beat faster, harder, hearing the grit of the sugar against the china, and then the swiff of the butter turning it to paste.

The next toss, a much easier one, had been sent Ginjima’s way, and he’d seen Atsumu’s smirk as the spike landed in the far corner, giving them a two point lead and set point.

_Great! Akagi-san’s on, so you c’n take a breather, lazybones._

_Fuck you!_ he’d mouthed.

A hand on his arm, as light as air, and instead of heading back to land a punch on _his_ nose, Rintarou exhaled, watching with churning disbelief as Atsumu won the set with the flukiest of serves.

The butter and sugar were pale now, almost white, and the noise from outside had ceased. Rintarou fetched eggs, cracking them into a smaller bowl to whisk with a fork. This was the tricky part: adding the egg in a slow, steady stream, beating quick before the mixture split.

His mum had showed him a neat trick once where you added a spoonful of flour to ensure the binding, but Granny had always scorned that method, and … well … today he didn’t want to be easy on himself.

Atsumu had pissed him off. He always did, and in the general run of things he’d ignore him, laugh at the jerk and get on with the game, but for some reason that afternoon, he’d not been able to set himself right.

And he’d fucked up. Not just his last spike of the first set, but his serve had crashed into the net and there’d been no aces that day. Stuck in a rut, he’d tried the shortcut of a flashy block, but the opposing blocker had read him easily and the feint had dropped at his feet. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kurosu watching him, and his mind went into freefall.

So, right now, making a cake, Suna Rintarou was not about to take shortcuts.

_Just don’t fuck up adding the eggs._

Kita had played. Aran had come off after splitting a nail, and Kita had stepped on, with all the self-assurance of a seasoned pro, and received a bullet spike with such finesse, it was as if the ball were a puff of cotton wool.

_Deftness,_ he thought, and added a trickle before mixing fast.

He continued in this vein, smiling a little as he remembered Ginjima’s serve landing on Atsumu’s head, until all the egg had been incorporated and there was no sign of separation.

His heart rate down, he measured the flour.

_Why don’t we use the wooden spoon, Granny?_

_Because we don’t want to beat the air you’ve worked so hard to add out of the mixture, Rin-chan._

_Do we use the whisk?_

_No, we find a spoon, a metal one, and we cut and fold the flour in._

_Cut and fold?_

_Yes. But gently._ Her flour-covered hand, not as gnarled back then, had covered his as she supervised his action.

_Think happy thoughts, Rin-chan, and this will be a fine cake. A light-as-a-feather delight of a cake._

_What if I’m sad?_

_No one wants to eat sad cake, Rin-chan, but sometimes that’s the way it is._

He tapped his hand against the side of the sieve, letting a quarter of the flour cascade into the bowl.

_Happy thoughts._

There’d been a toss from across the court, Atsumu showing his poise and excellence, but unstated (for once) and it arced gracefully through the air finding its destination in Osamu’s palm. And there’d been a spike, one so hard the floor had vibrated with its force. Atsumu had yelled and propelled himself forwards to high-five his twin. But at that point, Osamu had glanced to the side, an almost-smile on his face and peeped at Rintarou through his lashes.

Cut and fold. The edge of the spoon cutting a soft swathe, incorporating the flour as he folded the mixture over the top.

Happy thoughts.

_‘Nice receive, ‘Tarou.’_

“Something smells good.”

Looking over and into a pair of amber eyes, Rintarou nodded, but finished smoothing the frosting over the top of the cake instead of answering.

“Are we allowed in now?” Kita asked, his mouth twitching, “or would you like me to cause a diversion so you can escape with that to your room.” He stretched out his hand. “All I ask is a slice of cake.”

Sprinkling chocolate chips across the top, Rintarou surprised himself by chuckling. “It’s for everyone. Pretty sure Kurosu-sensei would drop me if I ate this by myself.”

_And it’s not like he needs an excuse after today_.

“Cut him a slice, and one for his dog, and your place is assured,” Kita teased. He waved his hand, and sure enough three others trooped in. Atsumu was at the back, and for a brief second, Rintarou considered slamming the door in his inexcusably smug face.

But Osamu was with him.

“Cake,” Rintarou offered and began to cut slices, the knife easing through the still warm sponge, revealing bubbles of air, and a goo of vanilla frosting seeping down the sides.

“Gah, this is good!” Ginjima said as he munched. “Makes me feel all warm and … uh …” His face pinked. “Appreciated?”

Atsumu, silent as he ate, grimaced and started to push the plate away, but then after eyeing his slice he gave a long whistling sigh and continued. He squinted up at Rintarou. “Strange. This is … compulsive, but I ain’t sure I like it. It’s … what’s that phrase Granny used to say, ‘Samu, about food and stuff.”

“She had a lot,” Osamu murmured and licked some frosting off his finger, eyes closing as he let out a soft gasp.

“’Bout being proud and …” Atsumu shook his head. “Uh… Suna, that was good receive for that last point. Straight to me.”

“Was your Granny’s phrase about humble pie?” Kita suggested, with a ghost of a wink.

“Yeah, that’s it.” Atsumu tucked in again, less dubiously this time. “Hey, it’s growing on me.”

“Curious,” Kita murmured.

Rintarou blinked. “I’m interested in your thoughts, Kita-san.”

“Mmm, I can tell.” Kita swallowed more sponge. “It’s an intriguing cake, Suna-kun. It’s very … you.”

“I could lose myself in this,” Osamu interrupted and savoured more frosting. “Forget everything else and just lap this up.”

“Granny’s finest recipe,” Rintarou replied. Finally he sampled his slice, felt a conflict of emotions surge through him – warmth and appreciation mixed with frustration, dissatisfaction, underpinned by steadfastness and—

_Reciprocation._

Desire flared on his tongue.

“From Aichi with love,” he muttered his eyes resting on Osamu. “Because even though I’ve had a stinker of a game, and wanted nothing more than to hightail it back home, it’s good to be reminded of why I’m here.”


End file.
